


Confectionary Pitfalls

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Category: Dead Like Me
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rube enjoys one of the treats of the Christmas season, much to the chagrin of the other reapers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confectionary Pitfalls

Above all things, Fruitcake symbolized the joys and pitfalls for Christmas, at least to Rube. If served year round, the dense confection quickly became intolerable, but somehow during December, Rube always wanted a bite or two of Der Wafflehous's signature fruitcake. Heavy, warm, and sweet, fruitcake really was Christmas on a plate.

It was funny how one normally gray month could be more than the other eleven combined. More eating, more shopping, more visiting, more death packed into a condensed month. A Reaper needed extra sustenance to keep going when the living could set Christmas trees on fire, get concussions from the stray rooftop snowman, not to mention the extra car accidents. Certainly, he held no shortage of yellow post-its for the rest of his crew.

"Oh no..." George had spotted the pale papers that made his book bulge, "Rube...it's Christmas...can't we just get a break."

Daisy idly nodded, perusing the newspaper for sale ads as she listened to the background noise of her fellow reapers squabbling. "I'm very busy right now Rube. It's so close to Christmas, and I have still got lots of shopping left to do."

"Don't fool around Daisy, it's not like you're actually giving anyone gifts." He said, passing out post-its to everyone, two each, hand-sorted by time and geography, even if no one else appreciated it.

"Well, look who's being grumpy today. Doesn't everyone say that you should treat yourself during the holidays? " the former starlet swung her bag into a graceful perch and wrinkled her nose at the mass of brown on Rube's plate. "Are you eating fruitcake? No wonder you're in a bad mood."

Rube took another bite of the holiday specialty; as much as other maligned as it was, this particular iteration of the fruitcake was quite delicious. "It's not the fruitcake, let me assure you." The look he sent Daisy hastened her exit from her sight.

"Did you know," Mason started, and Rube prepared for a headache-inducing revelation, "that some guy in New Mexico got pelted in the head by a fruitcake? His skull was visibly dented by the impact. Those things are dangerous."

Roxy, who had watched the whole scene thus far spoke up. "Mason, you know that's bullshit, who would throw a fruitcake? They're too heavy."

"She's right Mason, not one person has died from a fruitcake-related injury, and trust me, I've seen a lot of deaths." Perhaps that, along with the fact that no one ever wanted to sample it, was fruitcake's redeeming feature. In their division, they saw all kinds of choking deaths, but not one of them from that. So few people ate it, but at least Rube could sink is teeth into something and not have to block the image of a blue person attempting to cough up the remains of cake and failing.

Varying degrees of shock passed around the booth. The first thing any reaper learned about death was that even though disease, heart attacks, and cancer were the top three causes of death, most objects had been responsible for at least one person's demise.

"Really? You mean you've never seen anyone die because of a fruitcake? Those things are hard. I remember losing a baby tooth one year when my mom tried to copy one of Grandma's recipes." George looked toughtfully at the remaining chunk on Rube's plate, "Hey, what's that red thing right there?"

Honestly, he didn't know. For the sake of his remaining sanity, he assumed it was a cherry and left it at that. "It doesn't matter what it is, Peanut. It's a busy season for us, no time for asking dumb questions."

"Fine." George gathered her jacket, and looked down at her double Post-its. "I guess this means that I'm taking a late lunch today. This is right by the mall, right?"

"That is the mall, Peanut."

"Even better. Maybe I'll pick up something for you."

They all exited with the normal goodbyes, and Rube was left in peace with his holiday treat, and a post-it. M. A. Cassidy, 10:51 a.m., right in this very restaurant. Sighing, he set aside his cake and started surveying the place. The death would take place any moment now, so he had to be observant.

He didn't know why, but a matronly woman alone at a corner table caught his eye. A fancy coat and her handbag next to her, she looked no different from any other holiday shopper patronizing this establishment for a late breakfast or brunch. Of everyone else though, she was the only one eating fruitcake.

Any rules against fraternizing with the living aside, Rube needed a fruitcake companion.

"Excuse me," he said, sincerely hoping he wasn't interrupting anyone. "is this seat taken?"

"My, no." The smile she flashed him was vibrant, particularly after she saw the plate in his hand.

"So I take it, you're a fruitcake fan?"

"Oh heavens, yes. Did you know that I look forward to this time of year, just so I can eat it? I'm afraid that my husband and children tease me mercilessly about it." When she took a bite from the cake in front of her, she looked like she was in heaven. A quick glance at her possessions revealed to Rube the letters M. A. C. on her handbag.

"Your husband? Mr. Cassidy, by any chance?" Slow dread descended on Rube, as one of the few remaining fruitcake connoisseurs would perish this morning.

"Actually yes, do you know him?" Surprise and joy spread across her face. "I love meeting old acquaintances."

Rube quickly thought of the vague plausible lies that became second nature in his work. "We were in business together, a long time ago." He looked at his watch: 10:50. "I'm sorry that we can't talk more, but I have an appointment that I can't be late for." He offered his hand to Mrs. Cassidy, and she took it with the same graciousness that she had shown him in their brief acquaintance.

"Merry Christmas!" She called out to him as he left. Usually he stayed around to see the death follow through; this time though, he was ready to make an exception. If he did not leave after telling the nice lady he had an appointment, then he certainly couldn't make himself inconspicuously present. That the one deathless dessert was about to be defiled turned him off from choosing to witness it as well.

In a world where deaths could be caused by anything, at least one food should have the right to remain untainted in his mind.


End file.
